A Deadly Snow Fall (14 page)

“Confessed to the murder, finally?”

“No. Called to say we could climb the
Monument this afternoon, at last. Warned us to wear rubber-soled
shoes and plenty of warm clothing. He also mentioned gloves because
the metal stair railing will be extremely chilly. So, let’s dress
for an Arctic exploration and get a look at where Edwin Snow III
spent his last minutes alive.”

“We? I’ve climbed it and promised myself to
never do it again. When they install an elevator, I might go back
for the nice view. It’s a long, boring, tiresome climb and when you
are coming down you get dizzy and your legs begin to get wiggly and
you feel lightheaded.” Daph grabbed her head and mimed an imminent
faint.

“Look Daph. If this is going to be truly
painful for you, I can do it on my own.”

“I think that’s what I’ve been saying, pal of
mine.”

I headed to the front hall closet hoping
she’d relent. I didn’t want to climb alone. I pulled out scarves
and hats and gloves and began dressing. Hopefully, she’d be
inspired and not betray me.

Daphne’s cell rang to the tune of “New York,
New York” and as she listened to the caller, she smiled wryly at me
standing there muffled up like an Eskimo.

“So sorry, Liz. No Arctic expedition for this
girl today. Got to run. Got a possible buyer foaming at the mouth
about needing to meet the artist before she’ll put down a nickel
for a painting. Actually, lots and lots of nickels. Ta da. Have
fun.” She was out the door.

Waddling along Bradford Street, I was unaware
of the police cruiser coming toward me until James called out.
“Hey, pretty lady, if you hop in my car, I promise to turn the heat
up high.”

“James, don’t laugh; just don’t laugh. I have
a good reason for all this.”

“I would hope so. You are just too bright to
be doing something that looks so very weird without a real good
reason. Wanna hop in and tell me about it?”

He made a u-turn and pulled up beside me.
“Hi, Ranger Rick.” Gad, I am beginning to sound just like Daphne, I
thought as I sidled into the cruiser with difficulty.

“Hey, delicious woman. What’s up with the
Eskimo getup?”

“I’m meeting Bill Windship at the Monument to
climb to the top in search of clues. He said it will be very cold
and damp inside so I should dress for it. Want to join me? Daphne
managed to wiggle out of it. I could use your expertise. They must
have trained you in police school to search for clues.” I gave him
my most mocking smile and leaned in to meet his on-coming lips. My
neck scarf got in the way and poor James got a mouthful of
cashmere.

“Funny lady. Love to join you, but take my
advice, you will be sweating like a hog by the time you are halfway
up to the top. The climb will kill you in all that muffling.
Prepare to peel. Hm, that sounded juicer than I intended.” We
laughed like silly school kids and I was reminded, once again, of
why I liked him so much.

Bill was waiting outside the Monument,
planting flats of pansies. He rose from his knees with difficulty
and came to meet us. I “peeled” everything but the gloves. It would
be a long way up holding onto an icy railing, I reasoned.

“I can’t imagine what you expect to find up
there, but I am pleased to see that you arranged for James here to
accompany you. Wise choice.”

His look clearly said that a mere female
could hardly expect to handle this assignment without male
supervision, if not total control over the situation. “Well, two
heads are better than one.” It was not for me to teach old Bill a
thing or two about modern females so best to let it go with an
inane comment.

Bill’s condescending look surely said, Right,
as long as one of the heads is male.

As we climbed the stairs, I said to James,
“Will it anger the Chief that you are spending time doing what may
be a wild goose chase? Oughtn’t you be off doing a drug bust?
Perhaps, a dead manatee to see to?”

“Only do drug busts on Tuesdays and we don’t
have manatees this far north so just another boring crime-free
Provincetown day. Might as well tag along with Miss Marple.”

“I wish I had her knack for crime solving but
thanks for the comparison. When were you last inside here,
James?”

“Last year. On my day off I decided to try
it. Can’t live in town and not have climbed to the top, after
all.”

We were nearly at the top and my legs were
beginning to feel like jelly despite all the beneficial walking I
did, just as Daphne had warned.

But far worse than leg weakening was the
putrid smell emanating from the viewing platform. I quickly pinched
my nostrils between my fingers and grimaced. “Gad, what is that?
It’s just ghastly.”

“Sure is. Probably a dead squirrel that got
trapped inside and died.”

“Maybe a whole family of squirrels, I’d say.
Whew, that is really bad.”

James reached the top and stepped onto the
viewing platform before I did. “Yup, got to be decaying critters.
Let’s take a quick look around and get out of here.”

This was my first time up at the top of the
two hundred and twenty-five foot granite Pilgrim Monument. From my
reading of the town’s history, I’d learned our imposing tower had
the distinction of being the only all-granite structure in New
England. On a less odorous day it would have been quite lovely.
Hanging onto my nose, I stepped over to take in the view.
Breathtaking. Both the stench and the amazing panorama before
me.

“I can’t get beyond the incongruity of the
man’s crushed cranium.” Standing a few feet from me, James said
this seemingly to himself, not to me. He was puzzling what I
already had the answer to. It was time to share.

“James, I have a confession to make.” He
turned. The sun shone onto his handsome face and my knees, already
weakened from the climb, turned to mush.

“Not another one. The last time, you nearly
caused me a stroke waiting to hear that you were married with a
brood of, to quote you, ‘spoiled Brits’ at home. You’re not a royal
hiding out here, are you, love?”

Whew, that was close to another truth yet to
be revealed. “No, nothing like that. It’s about the murder. I
haven’t been wholly truthful with you regarding something I checked
out with an expert friend back in London. My old childhood chum
works for MI6 and he’s in the forensics department. I asked him how
Edwin Snow might have torpedoed head-first because it seemed odd to
me.”

Telling him what Nigel Hoppington had told
me, I watched his eyes light up with that flashing combination of
blue and green and gold. “That’s it,” James said looking relieved.
“That’s what has been teasing my mind since that snowy morning. The
blood all around Edwin’s head and the injury. The top of his
egg-shaped head was crushed. That was the proof that the man landed
directly on the top of his head. I knew that was problematic but I
couldn’t put my finger on just why. It’s been rolling around in my
brain since then. Of course, the man would not have landed like
that naturally, now would he have? I don’t have any background
training in forensics so it just didn’t congeal but it did toss
around a bit in the old cranium. Good detective work, Liz.”

“I too, like you, felt that there was
something curious about that landing. That’s why I checked with
Nigel. Did Chief Henderson ever mention it to you as being
strange?”

“No, never. Sorry. I don’t mean to infer in
any way that the Chief is sloppy at his job. It’s just that between
his gout and lumbago, he’s in a lot of chronic pain. I try to
relieve him of as many duties as possible, but he’s an old warhorse
and just refuses to retire. His wife, Trudy, died a couple of years
ago. They had plans to go south and he wanted to learn to play golf
and all kinds of fun things they had on their retirement agenda.
But when she died suddenly, he just closed in and made his job his
life. He’s got nothing else. I’m afraid he simply doesn’t have the
energy for a murder investigation. If you and I could get enough
proof to convince him to reopen the case and we do all the
work….not that I’d expect you to do police work, Liz.”

“Don’t worry, James. I understand. We work
well together and with all those cozies I’ve read, I feel as if
I’ve attended the Cozy Police Academy for Amateur Sleuths.” We got
a good laugh but I was careful to hang onto my nose. The stench was
just unbearable despite the spring air coming in from outside.

“Unless he was dead before….” James moved
over to take a look over the side. “If his killer crushed his head
up here and then tossed him to stage a suicide, then that would
explain it, now wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. It certainly would. But, there would be
blood up here.” I looked at the floor and saw no trace. Although it
had been two weeks. Rain and snow had come in since then.

James chewed on the information,
thoughtfully. “But, what if he was killed elsewhere and dragged up
the stairs? Again, because the killer wanted it to look like a
suicide.”

“It certainly has troubled me no end as to
what pretext someone could convince the frail, old man to climb
hundreds of steps on a cold and snowy night. For what? To look at
the view? In that weather the view would have been totally
obscured, anyway. None of it has made sense to me, James.”

“If someone did drag him, that someone would
have to have been young and strong. Right?” asked my handsome
swain.

“You’re correct. But, what young person would
want to kill Edwin Snow? Seems highly unlikely he’d have a young
enemy. Everything points to an old person. Someone anxious to
prevent some secret or scandal from the old days from being exposed
in Edwin’s book. Right?” I looked at James and he nodded. Our minds
were coordinated and functioning smoothly as one. It felt good. Not
that I hoped for more murders in our sweet, little seaside village
but, this working together was most rewarding. And, kind of
sexy.

“Come on. Got to get you away from this awful
stink. I’ll come back with a flashlight and check closely for
evidence. A bit of cloth, a dropped, monogrammed lighter. You know,
the kind of thing Agatha Christie wrote into her books.”

Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, we
stood in the shadowy entry hall before stepping back out into the
sunny day. I tried to imagine two elderly people coming there to
recall the old days. As Daphne had said, “Old people do odd things
knowing the end game is near.”

I reached out and took hold of James’ arm
“Before we leave and Bill can overhear us, I need to tell you
something else I picked up just by chance the other night. Daphne
took me to dinner at Sal’s Place and we talked to Mario the
manager. He’s a friend of Daphne’s. Do you know him, James?”

“Oh, yes, Mario, the Romeo. Well known around
town. I hope Daphne isn’t foolish enough to be involved with that
Casanova. He’s bad news for women.”

“No, Daph is smarter than that. However, he
mentioned that he liked Edwin and sometimes gave him a lunch at the
restaurant and the old man often talked to him openly. It seems
that the old man mentioned that he was being blackmailed.”

James’s eyes lit up. “Blackmailed? By
whom?”

“Don’t know; he never gave him a name.
However, according to Mario, the old man acted kind of peculiarly
about the whole thing. As Mario said, he seemed to be either smug
or amused by the fact. But here is the really interesting thing;
Edwin said that he had no intention of ‘paying off a dead man’s
debt.’ What does that mean to you, James?”

“I suppose it referred to something he knew
about someone who is already dead but why worry about blackmail if
that was the case?”

I didn’t offer what it meant to me. I still
needed one more piece of vital information before deciding if my
inkling carried any viable weight.

We stepped out into the sunshine to find Bill
sitting on a bench drinking from a thermos cup what appeared to be
black coffee. “Well, find a Maltese falcon or a suicide note?”

James stopped to talk to Bill while I
wandered off to look at the spot where the body was found in the
snow a fortnight before. Since then, the grass had greened. It was
difficult to believe that there had so recently been a deep layer
of snow horribly stained by human blood on that very spot.

It occurred to me that the melting snow cover
would have worked most efficiently to wash away any clues. Nothing
to see there. Then, my eye was caught by something shiny reflecting
the overhead sun.

I bent down to see what it was glinting in
the brilliant sunlight at the edge of the path where the grass met
the pavement. There, just lying as if it had been dropped minutes
before, was a tiny silver ring. Definitely a female’s ring,
although in P’town that was a risky judgment call. Perhaps even a
child’s ring. It was pretty tiny. Why hadn’t the police found it? I
wondered. What about combing the scene of the crime? Then, I
answered my own question. If it hadn’t been dropped recently, it
would have been easily hidden under the snow--if the killer dropped
it. I wrapped it in a tissue and slipped it into my pocket.

“Like a ride back to your place, Liz? I’m
heading that way.”

Sitting in the police car we were both quiet
and I had time to think about the tiny ring. I wondered if it just
might be the glass slipper I needed to identify a very dangerous
Cinderella.

Chapter Fifteen

Temperamental and tempestuous April had
slipped into glorious May and the villagers who had spent long
months hiding inside their warm homes were beginning to crawl out
of their protective shells like hermit crabs. I awoke on a glorious
morning knowing it was time for my first swim of the year. As a
child, a virtual fish-child, I’d set myself the challenge of being
the first one to swim at school in the spring and then the one to
take a swim the latest in the fall.